


The Play's The Thing

by The_Passing_Queer



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: Artifacts (Warehouse 13), Drama, Gen, H.G. Wells - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Hamlet, References to Warehouse 13, Sapphic, Seattle, Treasure Hunt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-08
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24611182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Passing_Queer/pseuds/The_Passing_Queer
Summary: When a veteran actor in Seattle starts improvising in the middle of a performance of "Hamlet," Claudia and Helena team up to investigate an artifact disturbance.Four-part fic about my favorite character combination that never got enough screen time on the show. A story about the power words have to persuade other people.
Relationships: Claudia Donovan & Helena "H.G." Wells
Kudos: 21





	1. Improvisation

The sound of a string concerto echoed through the halls of Leena’s B&B – deep bass tones rumbling low though the walls, and into Claudia’s room. She attempted to cover her ears with a pillow, but still the bass came through. Normally, Claudia would have been comfortable under the hypnotic trance of a solid bassline, surrounded by concertgoers and two pints in. But cellos?

She finally stood, stomping down the stairs. This had to be some sort of artifact. Bach’s wig? Liszt’s harpsichord? Copeland’s baton? What could be causing the music?

With surprise, Claudia walked into the living room to discover it was Helena –– working diligently by a pile of papers, listening to a record player placed at the opposite wall. As she worked, her hand floated gracefully above the desk, conducting the music along as it flowed into the room. 

Claudia grumbled, and walked over to the record player, pulling the needle from the wax with a furious scratch.

Helena wheeled around in her chair. “Do you mind?” she snapped. “I was listening to that.”

“Yeah, so was I,” Claudia countered. “And I was all the way upstairs.”

“You could put on headphones,” replied Helena.

“So could you.” 

“I think any agent could benefit from a bit of classical stimulation every now and then,” Helena said, standing up. 

Claudia picked up the record case, which showed the image of a flowering tree, in morning light. “ _ Vivaldi’s Six Violin Concertos, Opus 12 _ ,” she read. “Oh yeah, the most stimulating.”

“Classical music frees your mind,” Helena pressed on. “It...relaxes you, and allows you to focus on your work.”

“Oh, so a mind-control artifact,” Claudia chided, putting the record case back. 

“It’s no artifact,” said Helena. “Music doesn’t need to be magic to have an impact on you.”

“Hey, yeah, I know,” Claudia said, smiling. “You’re talking to Ms. Cherry Bomb Punk Rocker over here.”

“I’m aware,” Helena said, rolling her eyes as she turned back to the desk.

“Wait,” said Claudia. “Wait wait wait. That was a sneer.”

“I never sneer,” said Helena, flatly. 

“That was a  _ sneer _ , Claudia repeated. “You don’t like my music.”

“Should I?” Helena asked. “I honestly don’t know how you –– or any of us –– can work with that guitar blaring through the house.”

“Well,  _ I _ don’t know how you or anyone else can work when you’re playing grandmother music all through the house,” said Claudia. 

“Well, considering I was born before your  _ grandmother’s _ grandmother,” chided Helena, “perhaps you’ll allow me my music choices.”

“That’s another thing about classical music,” Claudia added. “It hasn’t changed in hundreds of years.”

“It’s hard to change something when the authors are dead,” said Helena.

“That’s what I like about rock, you know?” Caudia continued. “The ability for improvisation. There’s no stuffy ‘finished version’ of it. Even the recorded version isn’t the final say. Every recording of Vivaldi’s gonna have the same notes in it.”

“Consistency is key,” said Helena, picking up a pen. “I have paperwork to finish.”

“Well, can you stimulate a little quieter?” asked Claudia. “I’m doing important work upstairs.”

“Last I saw you, you said you were going upstairs to nap.”

“Yeah. Important, necessary work.”

“I’ll be the judge of what’s  _ necessary _ work,” came another voice, gruff and serious. From around the corner walked Artie, bag in one hand and two manila envelopes in the other. 

“Ah, speaking of people born before my grandmother…” said Claudia, grinning. 

Artie barely responded, just shooting his mentee a biting look as he set his affairs on the table. 

“A new ping, Arthur?” asked Helena, turning off her desk lamp.

“That’s precisely it,” Artie replied. He didn’t look up at Helena as he spoke. In his mind, he was still wrestling with this new member of the agent team. Yes, she’d been a valuable asset in the past, and showed no evidence of turning on them again. But still...something about her presence in the organization made him nervous. But today...well, what else could he do?

“What have you deemed important today?” asked Claudia. 

“You, my dear, are heading to Seattle.”

“Seattle!” Claudia shouted, excitedly. 

“Yes, so pack a raincoat, and maybe bring me back a decaf mocha while you’re there,” Artie said. 

“No, don’t you know?” Claudia continued. “Seattle was the birthplace of grunge rock. Pearl Jam, Soundgarden...Nirvana!”

“Oh, wonderful,” Helena said. “A place where you can listen to your music as loudly as you want to.”

Claudia glared. “You’re sneering again.”

“Am I going to have to separate you two?” asked Artie.

“I’ll be on my best behavior,” Claudia grumbled. 

“Good, because you’re going together.”

Helena and Claudia locked eyes in shock. A devilish grin grew across Claudia’s face, as an opposing show of concern shone in Helena’s eyes. 

“You cannot be serious, Arthur,” Helena replied.

“Oh, I’m very serious,” Atrie said. “This is a big job, you need a partner for this.”

“Then why not Steve, or Myka?” asked Helena. “Even Pete would be an option here.”

“Pete’s off dealing with his…” Artie began, before stopping. “Partner? What do we even call Kelly at this point?”

“Booty call?” Claudia said, flatly.

“He’s occupied,” Artie stated, eyes cutting towards Claudia. “And Myka and Steve left this morning for Acapulco so...that leaves Donovan and Wells. Have fun in the Evergreen State.”

Helena considered appealing once again, but knew that Artie’s assignments were final. She’d been unable to wriggle out of them before, and with no backup to pawn the assignment off onto, she resigned herself to a mission of overcast skies and pent-up teenage rage.

With a sigh, she asked: “What’s the ping from Seattle?”

“You know the plot of Hamlet, right?” asked Artie.

Helena’s eyebrow raised, just a touch. “Back and forth, why?”

“Would you care to explain to our protogé here––” Artie motioned to Claudia, who’s brow was already furrowed. “––what happens in Act III, Scene 4?”

Helena considered the question. “That would be...the bedroom scene. Hamlet questioning his mother, when a noise comes from behind the arras, which is Polonius, hiding.”

“I’m sorry, the  _ arras? _ ” asked Claudia.

“The curtain,” Helena clarified. “Polonius hides behind the curtain, and when Hamlet catches him, he’s so agitated by his mother’s marriage to his uncle that he resorts to violence. He thinks it’s his uncle behind the curtain, and he stabs Ophelia’s father.”

“At least,” said Artie, “that’s what  _ should happen _ .”

He held out a phone, where a grainy video of a stage performance could be seen. Helena and Claudia leaned in to watch.

Onstage, a group of actors dressed in 1940s period outfits––broad shouldered coats and pencil skirts––played out the scene in question. Two older actors, Polonius and Gertrude, held the stage. 

“ _ I warrant you, fear me not, _ ” said Gertrude. “ _ Withdraw, I hear him coming. _ ”

Polonius ducked behind the window curtain, just as Hamlet––svelt in tight-fitting tank top and gelled hair––burst through the door.

“Ooh, that’s one sexy Hamlet,” Claudia commented. Helena just rolled her eyes again. 

“But listen,” said Artie.

“ _ Now mother, what’s the matter? _ ” asked Hamlet.

“ _ Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended,”  _ said Gertrude.

“ _ Mother you have...my father much offended. _ ”

“ _ Come, come, you answer with an idle tongue _ .”

“ _ Come, come… _ ”

Hamlet stopped, staring at his mother blankly, as though the words had flown from his mouth. 

Helena leaned in. “You answer with a wicked tongue,” she repeated. “That’s his next line.”

_ Why, how now, Hamlet? _ ” asked Gertrude, covering the silence. “ _ Have you forgot me _ ?”

_ “N-no, by the rood, not so _ ,” Hamlet began again. “ _ You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife.”  _

“ _ Nay, then I’ll set those to you that can speak. _ ”

Gertrude began to walk away from Hamlet, but he grabbed her arm.

“ _ Not so, dear mother, _ ” said Hamlet.  _ “For so dear a mother have I no other. I do repent my ill intent in coming here tonight.” _

The audience could be heard rustling through the video.

“That’s not one of Shakespeare’s lines,” said Helena. 

“It’s not bad, though,” Claudia replied.

“ _ Why, Hamlet, what intent was this? _ ”

“ _ I did intend this meeting as the night when I, with force and strong attack of word, would pressure you to see the blame in this: betrayal of my father, former king.” _

The audience, and Gertrude, gasped. 

“ _ But now I do repent me of my ways, and see in your position just excuse for this remarriage. Should you not submit, I’m certain Claudius would have you killed.” _

With this, Hamlet hugged his mother tightly. Another gasp from the audience.

“That’s not the Hamlet I know,” Helena said. 

“It’s not the Hamlet Shakespeare wrote, either,” Artie said. Onscreen, Polonous appeared from behind the arras, and was subsequently embraced by Hamlet. Artie stopped the video.

“So, an actor goes off-script to make Hamlet a pacifist,” Claudia surmised. “Not exactly ping-material.”

“Ah, but the company,” Artie said. “This was no ordinary performance. This was the Seattle Classics Ensemble, a legendary theatre troupe. They’ve been invited to perform in nearly every theatre on the West Coast. And that actor playing Hamlet is their star performer: Maurizio Fiore.”

Helena opened her file, and sure enough, there was Maurizio’s file staring back at her.

“Also known as Foolproof Fiore,” Artie continued. “In thirty years on the stage, he’s never missed an entrance, never gone up on a line, never broken a prop. This is not an actor who decides to start improvising a new ending for  _ Hamlet _ .” 

“So what do we think is the artifact?” Helena asked. “Hypnosis? A gift from a fan?”

“I don’t know, and that’s why I’m sending you two out to learn about it,” Artie said. “Now go, quickly. You have a plane to catch.” 

Helena began to walk out, with Claudia following closely behind. Just before leaving, Claudia turned back to Artie.

“Were you serious about that mocha?” she asked. 

“Shoo!” Artie said, waving her out the door. 


	2. Technical Difficulties

SEATTLE

“You know, with a name like ‘Seattle Classics Ensemble,’ I sort of expected an older, more dusty building than this one,” said Claudia, as she and Helena strolled through the front door of Seattle’s Langston Hughes Performing Arts Institute. 

“They’re a resident company on tour,” Helena explained. “They perform in whatever theatre they’re invited to perform in.”

“So they’ve never performed here before?” Claudia surmised. “Could be something in the building, maybe.”

“Always possible,” said Helena. “But it’s a big building. We don’t have time to goo every prop and costume here.”

“We’ll see about that,” said Claudia, as they walked into the auditorium.

Onstage, the set resembled a stuffy newsroom, something that looked more at home in a Dick Tracy comic rather than the walls of Elsinore Castle. Milling around the stage were the actors and crew: the actors in the same 1940s styles from the video, and the techs in stage blacks, with headsets and miles of cords in hand. 

“Not exactly what I’d expect from a show that opens tonight,” said Claudia. She picked up one of the cords on the floor, but almost immediately was accosted by a woman in black, with a tight bun and glasses.

“Please don’t touch the electricals, thank you,” she said, before picking up the cord and walking away. 

“You tell me, riot gurl,” said Helena. “Haven’t you ever seen roadies setting up for a concert? These people have been adjusting the light and sound equipment all day, and it all has to be packed away before the show tonight. It’s a stressful time already.”

“Probably not helped by concern about the actor forgetting who his character is, I’d bet,” Claudia said. “Now where is Mr. Arm Muscles himself? We should have a word.”

Claudia searched through the crowd, before finally finding a woman with a clipboard and headset, quickly scribbling something down.

“Hey, you look like you’re in charge around here,” said Claudia. “Think you can help me with something?”

“Sorry, I’m...do I know you?” asked the woman, barely looking up.”

“We’re here from the board,” siad Helena. “We’re looking into the changes made to the script during last night’s performance. Is Mr. Fiore around?” 

The woman looked up, sweat already beading on her forehead. “The board is looking into this?” she asked. 

“The––yes,” Claudia said, catching on. “The board is very concerned about the performance. And Mr. Fiore’s safety, of course.”

“Well, we’ll see if he’s available to talk to you,” she said. Pulling another black-clad worker aside, she said, “can you go let Maurizio know there are two people here to see him? They’re from the board.”

“Yes, the board,” Claudia repeated. “Important business.”

“That’s my ASM, Holly,” said the woman, as her assistant walked away. “My name’s Frida, the Stage Manager.”

“Can you tell us a little bit more about what happened at last night’s preview?” asked Helena. “We know that Mr. Fiore started adjusting the dialogue during the bedroom scene, but what happened after?” 

“We just about lost our minds in the booth when that happened,” said Frida. “The surprise from the audience when Maurizio just starts improvising new dialogue? I’ve never heard that in a theatre before.”

“Did you have to stop the show?” asked Claudia.

“We were just about to,” Frida explained. “But as it turned out, we never needed to. The actors rolled with the changes, and managed to swing the story back around to where it needed to go.”

Helena frowned. “Then Mr. Fiore did get back on script, eventually.”

“Oh, yes, after that scene he was fine again,” Frida said. “Too some additional ad-libs from the rest of the team to get back on track. _Hamlet_ with Polonius still alive is a different sort of play, you know.”

“I imagine.”

“That’s what I like about the SCE, honestly,” Frida glowed. “They’re one of the tightest ensembles working today. You change one small element of the show, and they’re all going to adjust along with it. They’re that in sync.”

“Maybe too in sync,” said Claudia. “You know of any sort of...good luck charms or rituals they do, before performances? Any strange activity going on?” 

Frida sighed. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “This tech week has been so complicated. We’ve got projectors, fly rigs, smoke machines...you never expect they can make _Hamlet_ into a budget-breaker, but directors find a way. If there’s something going on backstage, you’d have to talk to Holly, she’s been on the deck.”

“Talk to me about what?” asked Holly, just now returning to the group.

“Any luck on Maurizio?” asked Claudia.

“He doesn't want to talk to anyone right now,” Holly said. “He’s still pretty shaken up about the whole preview last night.”

“Did he say what happened?”

“No, that’s what’s shaking him,” said Holly. “All he remembers of that scene was blacking out just as it started. He didn’t know what he said until that leaked footage was played back. I wouldn’t advocate bootleg videos, but it did turn out to save us this time.”

“So this wasn’t a conscious effort on Mr. Fiore’s part to sabotage the performance…” Helena considered. “Something took over, something he couldn’t control.”

“Is there anyone in the company that might want Maurizio to mess up onstage?” asked Claudia.

“Oh, certainly not,” said Frida. “I mean, you have to understand. These actors have been performing together since the mid-80s. If there was any drama between them, it wouldn't be happening onstage.”

“Hm,” Claudia thought. “So no motives, no tensions, no memory of the incident…”

“We’re missing something,” said Helena. “We should check the performance tonight, see if it happens again.”

“Let’s hope not, tonight the press are going to be here,” Frida said. “But if you’d like to attend, I can have the box office put in comp tickets for you. Always happy to help the board.”

“That’d be great, thank you,” said Helena.

“Yes, just place us in the box seats, that’d do nicely,” said Claudia.

Helena placed a hand to her forehead, before whispering to Claudia: “Do you see any box seats in the theatre, Claudia?”

Claudia glanced at the walls, before adding “any seat will do, thanks.”

“Holly, add that to the work list,” Frida sighed. “What else do we have before actors get here?” 

“Um, most of them are here early,” Holly said. “As usual. Jean is arguing with Doris again about her hats.”

Frida sighed, deeply. “I thought we already clarified with Jean about the hats!” 

“I’m sorry,” said Helena, stepping back in. “What about hats?” 

“Jean Donahue, our Gertrude,” said Frida. “Our costume designer, Doris, is very specific about the pieces in the show. She’s got this whole vision for it, like ‘every moment is a painting,’ so the costumes are really specific. But Jean keeps changing what she wears in each scene. Older actresses. They’ll run all over you.”

“And these costumes, they’re older pieces?” asked Claudia, lighting up. “Antiques?”

“Everything’s an antique!” said Holly, bitter. “You know what laundry for this show is like?” 

“The director, Sergio, set the show in 1940s Poland, during the Second World War?” said Frida. “And they got real specific about accuracy. All the props, costumes, set dressing...everything’s from somewhere in Europe. The budget’s out of control bringing antique stuff in.”

“The whole set?” said Helena, looking weakly at the stage, covered from wing to wing with antiques. 

“Some of the pieces only came in last night, so we’ve been struggling to keep track of it all,” said Frida. 

“That might be a possibility,” Helena said. “You update your prop list each day?” 

“We’ve got a Google Doc,” said Holly.

“Okay, I need you to get me a list of every prop that only arrived yesterday morning,” said Helena. “One of them might be the reason why Mr. Fiore went offscript last night.”

“Yes, miss,” said Holly, heading off to her computer. 

“Now, I have a rehearsal to run here, before tonight’s show,” said Frida. “I can let you stay to watch, but I can’t have you running around grabbing other people’s props. Please, let us handle it.”

“Of course,” said Helena. “Wouldn't want to overstep.” 

“We’ll be watching, don’t worry,” said Claudia. “I’m sure Maurizio will be reasonable about the mistake.”

Just then, a door slammed shut from backstage, and onto the stage walked the same man from the video, with his gelled hair and visible pecs. 

“Frida!” said Maurizio. “Aren’t we supposed to be running Act III Scene 4 right now? It’s 5:30 on the dot!”

Frida looked at the clipboard, and her eyes widened. “Yes, Maurizio. I apologize, I forgot. Let me just grab Jean and we’ll get right on it.” 

Maurizio looked away, towards the set. 

“What, are we running the scene on the wrong set?” he asked. “Where is the bed? I simply can _not_ rehearse without the bed!”

Helena leaned over to Claudia. “Yes, such a reasonable actor to work with,” she chided.

Claudia watched, nervously.


	3. Power of Persuasion

“ _Hamlet, thou hast thy father much offended._ ”

“ _Mother, you have my father much offended._ ”

It was the third time through the scene, and Helena could see Jean beginning to tire as Maurizio ran again and again through the motions of the scene. Frida, at the stage’s edge, followed along in the script––although Helena didn’t need the words in front of her. She knew that Maurizio had Shakespeare’s verse memorized inside and out. 

“ _No, by the rood, not so,_ ” said Maurizio. “ _You are the queen, your husband’s brother’s wife, and––would it were not so!––you are my mother_.” 

“ _Nay, I’ll set those to you that can speak_ ,” said Jean, growing weary. 

Maurizio mimed grabbing his “mother” by the shoulder, and sitting her on the bed. “ _Come, come,_ ” he said. “ _You shall not budge. You go not till I set you up a glass…”_

“All right, I did some digging,” said Claudia, plopping down in the chair beside Helena.

“Anything yet?” she asked. 

“Well, I took your list backstage and managed to goo most of the props on it,” Claudia said.

Helena frowned. “Don’t touch props that don’t belong to you,” she said.

“Hey, we work at the Warehouse,” said Claudia. “Our entire _job_ is touching things that don’t belong to us. Now, nothing on that prop table is the artifact, at least nothing that arrived yesterday.”

Onstage, Frida was wrapping the rehearsal up. “Okay, thank you, everybody, let’s get on with fight call now…”

“I’d like to run the scene one more time,” said Maurizio. Jean groaned, and sat on the bed.

“Maurizio, we’ve done the scene three times now,” Frida begged. “I think it’s pretty clear that yesterday was just a flub, we can move––”

“I do _not flub_ ,” said Maurizio. “It was something else. We need the right lighting. What if it was a trick of the light that knocked me out?” 

Frida gripped her clipboard tighter. “Please, Maurizio, we have to move on now.”

“How do you know it wasn’t her?” he said, pointing to Jean. 

“Me?” she asked, incredulous. “Why would I want you to mess up the scene where I have the most stage time? This is my best moment in the play!”

“If it’s your best moment, why can’t you ever stick to the blocking?” shouted Maurizio. “You weren’t even wearing the right costume yesterday!”

Helena and Claudia both looked up at the stage. “What?” asked Helena, as Claudia began to fish out her phone.

“That’s enough, we’re not fighting now,” Frida said. “Maurizio, please go to your dressing room, we can talk alone. Go.”

Maurizio stormed off, his muscles pushing against his shirt. 

“Damn, he even exits in a rage sexily,” said Claudia. 

“Would you stop ogling and pull up the bootleg?” Helena asked.

Onstage, Jean walked down to the lip of the stage. “I’m sorry if I...I didn’t mean to do anything wrong yesterday…” she began. 

Frida shook her head. “No, Jean, you had nothing to do with Maurizio dropping his lines. He’s just projecting.”

Jean nodded.

“That said,” Frida continued. “He wasn’t wrong about the costume. You were wearing your traveling suit from the first scene yesterday, instead of the nightgown. Why would Gertrude be dressed for the outdoors in her room?”

“Ah, I do enjoy that suit, though,” said Jean, looking off in recollection.

“But you cannot like it in _that scene_ ,” said Frida. “Alright? And you _must_ remember to wear the fascinator in the banquet scene. You keep forgetting to wear it.”

“It’s a very itchy piece,” Jean explained. “I’m always worried I’ll start scratching at it in the middle of a monologue.”

“We can pin the lace up, but please still wear it,” Frida sighed. "Doris went to a lot of effort to source these costumes, so please wear them at the right times. Okay?”

“All right, I’ll try,” said Jean. “That Holly girl backstage, she helps me sometimes.”

“Yes, she’s your ASM.”

Helena grimaced. “Wow, I hope I never have to work with an actress that forgetful.”

“Or a troupe that forgetful,” Claudia said. “I don’t think Maurizio is our guy.”

Claudia held up the video again, of the flubbed performance.

\- - - - -

“We’ve been looking at the wrong part of this video,” she explained to Artie. “It’s not just Hamlet that made an error here. He forgot his line. Gertrude forgot her costume. Frida forgot they were running that scene today. Everyone is forgetting something.”

“A short-term memory loss artifact,” Helena suggested. 

“Well, that’s all good, but not enough to go on,” said Artie, through the grainy filter of the Farnsworth. “I’ve been here looking up every artifact you’d find in a theatre, and none of them would make you forget your lines. Bertolt Brecht’s glasses, Augusto Boal’s sketchbook...they’re all about organization, not discord.”

“Well, try looking in the 1940s,” said Claudia. “Nearly all the props and costumes are from that time period, so I’m guessing it’s something there.”

“Oh, well, why didn’t I think of that?” Artie said, with dripping sarcasm. “Why don’t I just narrow the search to ‘every artifact created during World War II?’ That wasn’t an emotionally heightened time, not at all!”

“All right, don’t get grumpy,” said Helena. “We’ll watch the performance tonight. If it happens again, we’ll be there to tag and bag.”

“And if it doesn’t?” asks Claudia.

“Well, the show must go on,” said Artie, and the farnsworth clicked off.

\- - - - -

The audience applauded as the house lights went down, and the curtain rose on the first scene of _Hamlet_. Amid the film noir detective set, a door creaked open, and Barnardo and Francisco began the opening scene. 

“ _Who’s there?_ ” “ _No, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself._ ”

“Are you enjoying the performance?” asked Claudia, sitting in the booth with Frida. From her view, she could just see the back of Helena’s head, down in the auditorium by the aisle. Claudia held a finger to her ear to pick up Helena’s reply. 

“You’re not supposed to talk at the theatre!” she whispered. Through the earpiece, Claudia could hear a voice shushing her.

“All right, then just listen to me talk at you,” Claudia said. “If anything looks odd on your end, just scratch your head. I’ll see it.”

A grunt of disapproving agreement came from the other end, and Claudia sat back in her chair. 

“Lights 13, GO,” said Frida, and a thunderclap was accompanied by a flash onstage.

“You really have the best view up here, don’t you?” said Claudia.

“You know, we did get you a comp in the audience,” Frida said, with a groan.

“Eh, sometimes I like this vantage point.”

“What’s your position on the board again?”

“Oh, you know...Treasurer?”

“The treasurer is Dominic Eastonbury.”

“...all right, I’ll admit, I’m his assistant.”

Frida shook her head, but said nothing. She was too busy watching the stage like a hawk, to quickly pick up any errors. She tapped a button on her headset. “Holly, everything looking good on your end, over?”

“Roger that, over,” came Holly’s crackly reply.

Onstage, the first scene played out without interruption: Horatio and Marcellus witnessed the first appearance of the Ghost––achieved via a mirror trick in one of the windows of the set. The audience applauded as the actors entered for the next scene, with Maurizio preening in the attention of the crowd. 

“Ugh, he’s such a tool,” said Claudia.

“I heard that,” came the response from her ear. She quickly turned it off.

Frida exhaled in relief. “Well, at least Jean’s wearing the right outfit this time.”

Claudia looked out. Sure enough, Gertrude wore the same skirt-suit combination from the video, though it looked much more appropriate among these other actors, rather than in the darkened bedroom set. She sat up, watching the scene play out. 

Claudius, the king, talked for quite a while at the beginning, but when his attention fell to Hamlet, all eyes were on the stage. 

“ _Take thy fair hour, Laertes,_ ” he said. “ _But now, my cousin Hamlet, and my son–”_

“ _A little more than kin, and less than kind,_ ” whined Hamlet.

“ _How is it that the clouds still hang on you?”_

“ _Not so, my lord. I am to much i’ the sun._ ”

“ _Good Hamlet_ ,” said Gertrude, stepping forward. “ _Cast thy nighted color off, and let thine eye look like a friend on Denmark…_ ”

“Oh, those shadows are really bad,” said Frida.

“Which ones?” asked Claudia. “In Hamlet?”

“No, _on_ Gertrude.”

Sure enough, Gertrude’s face was almost fully obscured under the formal hat––ribbon, lace, hatpin––that she wore.

“That’s one of the pieces we only got in yesterday,” said Frida. “Because she forgot it during last night’s run, we didn’t get a chance to check the lighting in this scene. So now she’s in shadow, great.”

Frida tapped a few buttons to try and add more frontlight. Claudia, however, was now looking at the stage with intense focus.

“ _Seek for thy noble father in the dust,_ ” Gertrude continued. “ _Thou know’st ‘tis common. All that lives must die, passing through from nature to eternity.”_

For a moment, Hamlet gave no reply, but instead stared at his mother. Then, heaving a massive sigh, he bowed to her. 

“ _How right you are, dear mother,_ ” Hamlet spoke. “ _In looking on myself, I do find my drowsy humor weighing heavy on. I must take pains to lift myself from its chains._ ”

“What the hell is he doing?” asked Frida, panicking.

“ _‘Tis not alone my inky cloak, good mother. These are but actions that a man might play, and that which passeth slowly once before is yet but fully passèd. Cast it off!”_

Hamlet removed his darkened cloak, throwing it to the ground. The other actors, looking to each other, were in disbelief. The audience, cooing with interest, remained calm––except for one woman, furiously scratching her head.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” said Claudia to her earpiece.

Claudius was the first to step forward. “ _‘Tis sweet and commendable in your nature, Hamlet, to give these mourning duties to your father.”_ He picked up Hamlet’s jacket and carefully handed it back. 

“ _But to persever in obstinate condolement is a course of imperious stubbornness,”_ Hamlet replied, casting the garment down again. “‘ _Tis unmanly grief!_ ”

“ _Please, Claudius,”_ said Getrude. _“If Hamlet wishes to end his mourning, then by what means shall we prevent it?_ ”

Claudius pauses, considered, and finally said. “ _Yes, my love. I do see that Hamlet has overstayed his mourning. Cast it off, cousin._ ”

“Okay, meet me backstage,” Claudia called, walking out of the booth. 

“ _Let not thy mother lose her prayers, Hamlet,_ ” said Gertrude. “ _I pray thee, stay with us. Go not to Wittenberg._ ”

“ _Then I shall stay!_ ” cried Hamlet. The audience gasped. 

As the actors onstage hurriedly convinced Hamlet that, certainly, he shouldn’t go to Wittenberg, one woman in the audience quickly ducked out of the auditorium, and through a side door to backstage. 

\- - - - -

“Eleanor Roosevelt’s Hat Pin!” said Artie, holding the Farnsworth up to his computer screen. “Grants the wearer the power of persuasion over others. Because her husband was stricken with polio, Eleanor Roosevelt had to attend many of the important meetings in his place. Now, she was, by all accounts, an _excellent_ negotiator. She could get anyone to see the reason in her argument.”

“So you wear the hat pin, and people start to take your side,” Helena said.

“Huh, could have used that last night, during the rock versus cello debate,” said Claudia.

Helena looked askance at her partner.

“Not just that,” said Artie. “It makes you more convinced that your opinion is the right one. It’s not that Hamlet changed his mind...it’s that Gertrude is changing his mind _for_ him.”

“Or anyone she talks to while wearing this hat,” said Claudia. “So we just gotta get her to take the hat off.”

“The actress was already complaining about wearing the hat before,” said Helena. “It can’t be that hard to convince her to take it off.”

“Convince her?” asked Artie. “The woman in the hat that makes you take her side?”

“Well, if she’s not wearing it right now…” Claudia began, but just then heard a sound from one of the dressing rooms caught their attention. 

“You’re only supposed to wear this outfit in the first scene!” came a voice not unlike Holly’s.

“Well, _I’m_ deciding that Gertrude is the sort of woman who dresses up for important events!” came Jean’s voice from behind the door. “So maybe, if Doris is open to notes, I can start wearing the hat in every scene!”

“No, that’s…” began Holly, but a long pause was finally followed by, “you know what? Maybe you’re right.”

“Precisely,” came Jean’s reply. “Now, let me put my jacket back on.”

“This is bad,” said Helena. “She’s going to create a version of Hamlet where Gertrude gets everything she wants.” 

“Think bigger than that,” said Artie. “As long as the wearer keeps winning arguments, their sense of ambition will keep growing. By the end of a three-hour production of Hamlet...with all the arguing that Gertrude does, just in the _real_ version of the script…”

“She’ll be unstoppable,” Claudia said. “She could convince the audience that they’re really her subjects!”

“Wait a minute,” Helena remembered. “Gertrude tells Claudius not to attend the play-within-the-play. If Claudius never watches the Player King, then Hamlet has no proof, and…”

“The revenge never happens,” Artie finished.

“Well, should we tell the actors?” asked Helena. “They’ll be onstage with her all night. If they could try resisting her…”

“No, that won’t work,” said Artie. “You said it yourself. The bond of that ensemble is too strong. They’re already going along with her edits. What she needs is someone from outside the company to step in and argue with her. Someone who can agree with her to the letter of her argument, but not the spirit.”

Neither Claudia or Helena replied immediately, but eventually Claudia’s eyes fell to a disbelieving droop.

“You can’t be thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“Oh, I think so,” said Artie. “One of you is going onstage tonight.”

“You want us to convince Hamlet to kill his father?”

“Improv is easy,” said Claudia. “You just say ‘yes, and.’”

“Ah, but these actors already say ‘yes, and’ to each other,” said Artie. “That’s what makes Jean so powerful as Gertrude.”

“Then what do you want us to do?” asked Helena.

“I need you,” said Artie, “to be bad actors _._ ”


	4. The Player Queen

“My lord, I have news to tell you.”

“What news, dear uncle?” said Hamlet, happier than he’d been in any previous performance.

Polonius hesitated, concerned for Maurizio’s new take on Hamlet, but continued. “The actors are come hither, my lord.” 

“Buz, buz!” Hamlet crowed. 

“The best actors in the world,” Polonius continued, “either for tragedy, comedy, history, pastoral, pastoral-comical, historical-pastoral, tragical-historical…”

“We arrive!” came a voice. Out from the wings walked a troupe of actors, dressed in the requisite garb of day laborers. Their clothing was well tailored –– except for the leader, whose doublet hung loose around her thin waist.

Backstage, Claudia restrained the actor who’d been cast as the Lead Player. 

“Don’t struggle,” she whispered. “It’s just for this one performance.” Looking to the stage, she saw Helena take Hamlet’s hand, and silently wished her to break a leg.

“You are welcome, masters,” Hamlet said, shaking the new leading player’s hand, before looking up to see Helena’s face. Maurizio was thrown, but attempted to continue.

“O, my old friend!” he said. “Thy face is valenced since I saw thee last. Comest thou to beard me in Denmark?” 

“We’ll e’en to it like French falconers,” said Helena, cutting the prince’s speech short. The other players, remaining in the scene, jumped to their places.

“Come, give us a taste of your quality,” Hamlet begged. “Come, a passionate speech.” 

Helena blanched. She knew  _ Hamlet _ well, but had only gotten a moment’s time to read over the scene before going out. Could she remember the full speech? 

“What speech, my lord?” she asked, knowing full well the answer.

“I heard thee speak me a speech once,” Hamlet began. “But it was never acted. Or, if it was, not above once. For the play, I remember, pleased not the million; ‘twas caviare to the general––”

“Ah, yes, certainly,” Helena jumped in. “That old ‘caviare to the general’ speech. I know it well, my lord. Please, sit you down, and attend.”

Maurizio and the other actors remained confused. This new performer––not a member of the ensemble––changing the story of  _ Hamlet _ , cutting off the monologues? And yet, their bond was stronger than this. The show must go on.

They sat down, with all eyes focused on Helena. She took a deep breath, and snuck a look off to Claudia. Claudia simply gave a thumbs up. 

Helena looked out at the audience. It was a big crowd––capacity was nearly 300 people. 

She exhaled. 

“Anon he finds him

Striking too short at Greeks; his antique sword,

Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,

Repugnant to command: unequal match'd,

Pyrrhus at Priam drives; in rage strikes wide;

But with the whiff and wind of his fell sword

The unnerved father falls. Then senseless Ilium,

Seeming to feel this blow, with flaming top

Stoops to his base, and with a hideous crash

Takes prisoner Pyrrhus' ear: for, lo!...”

This was a page turn in the script. She’d forgotten what followed, and looked to Polonius for the mercy of his following line, which would end the recitation. But it didn’t come; the actor simply watched on. 

_ Well, _ thought Helena,  _ I might as well jump in myself. _

“‘Tis not too long, lord?” asked Helena. “I find it better to speak the speech trippingly on the tongue.”

“No, sweet player,” smiled Hamlet. “We’re at your discretion. Weave your tale, and we’ll attend.”

“Nay, lord,” said Helena. “‘Tis overlong. It shall to the barbers, with your beard.”

The audience laughed. The joke was Shakespeare’s, though misplaced. 

“Prithee, say on,” Hamlet pressed. “He’s for a jig or a tale of bawdry, or he sleeps. Say on: come to Hecuba.”

Helena knew there was no way of getting out of the monologue. The reason Hamlet agreed to play  _ The Murder of Gonzago _ was because the player’s monologue was so well-performed. Skipping over it would give no incentive to revenge the father. 

She had to, for this moment, perform well. With or without the words.

“But who, O, who had seen the mobled queen,” she began,

“Run barefoot up and down, threatening the flames

With bisson rheum; a clout upon that head

Where late the diadem stood, and for a robe,

About her lank and all o'er-teemed loins,

A blanket, in the alarm of fear caught up…”

The words poured out, from some deep corner of the brain, as Helena remembered reciting the poem once before. Years ago, in school. She’d performed it well, as she recalled, and as each stanza followed, she returned to the choices she’d made then. A lifting of the voice, a placement of the hand. It was so clear in her memory––and the other actors watched as she rolled through. 

Claudia, still holding the deposed actor offstage, watched from the wings. It was a side of Helena she’d never seen before––clearly, she had artistic interests, a sort of debonair demeanor that stood out from the other Warehouse agents. But to see her recite the Bard’s poetry was another matter.

“...Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,

And passion in the gods.”

Helena paused at the end of the speech, waiting for a reaction from the assembled crowd. She hoped, silently, that it would be enough to break Hamlet out of Gertrude’s spell; to send him on the path to revenge. But only time would tell.

“Look, whether he has not turned his colour and has tears in's eyes,” Polonius said. “Pray you, no more.”

“'Tis well,” Hamlet agreed. “I'll have thee speak out the rest soon. Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed?”

As Hamlet and Polonius continued to talk, Helena surveyed her fellow actors. Not one shared the same look of bemusement and uncertainty as before. Each shared a knowing glance with their newest fellow artist. Truly, Helena observed, these were a deeply connected group of artists, ready to roll with whatever punches the evening threw at them. Of course, she still had a job to do: to ensure that no more punches would be thrown. 

As Polonius led the actors off, Helena fell behind and remained in view, as her blocking indicated. But Hamlet began walking off the other way, seemingly indifferent on assuring that  _ The Murder of Gonzago _ was staged. Helena, thinking quickly, called for the lord to return to her. Maurizio, an actor’s actor, agreed to the impulse. 

“My lord is kind, to praise my tongue so,” Helena improvised.

“Ah, but certainly,” Hamlet said. “So fresh and fair a recitation needs but scant reproof.”

“Yes,” Helena said. “But does lord Hamlet wish to know the play we stage tonight?”

Hamlet shrugged. “I’m certain any play you choose will serve the time ‘twixt now and supper.”

“We had considerèd a jolly play,” Helena stumbled, “full of mirth and good tidings. But on reflection, we’ve found something rotten in the state of Denmark, and hued the wood to suit.”

“Rotten?” asked Hamlet. In his eyes, Helena could see that he was beginning to wean from Gertrude’s argument. “In this, our state?”

“The very same,” said Helena. “Why, shall it not be seen as strange? So close the nuptial day to follow from the passing on of our late king? And not in separate issue––for here, the widow and the bride are but one soul. Is’t not strange?”

Hamlet scowled, but his brow slowly shifted as he mulled the notion over.

“‘Tis possible?” he muttered. “Foul play?”

“There have been some report of ghostly visages,” Helena pressed. “I’m certain these occurrences shant scape the mind of those that bear them witness.”

Hamlet seemed to recall his father’s ghost, nearly an hour prior. 

Helena grinned. “Or, surely, any  _ word _ or  _ callings-on _ one may receive from such a demon.”

“No, no demon,” Hamlet countered. “For are not spirits’ visitations naught but the care of overwatching angels, lodestars for we who still must trod the earth?” 

“Well, you speak well, Prince Hamlet,” said Helena, casting a look to Claudia offstage.  _ Was that enough? _ she wondered. “We had a well-devisèd plan to match the time to tone, of this our Denmark. But given place and present audience, perhaps we’d better suit to comedy…”

“Nay, princely player.” Hamlet put an arm around Helena’s shoulder––a move from the original blocking. “Dost thou hear me, old friend? Can you play  _ The Murder of Gonzago _ ?”

Helena beamed. “Ay, my lord,” she said. “‘Twas precisely that story which we prepared to tell!”

“We’ll ha’t tomorrow night. You could, for a need, study a speech of some dozen or sixteen lines, which I would set down and insert in't, could you not?”

“Ay, my lord.”

“Very well,” Hamlet said, melancholicly. “Follow that lord; and look you mock him not.”

Helena bowed, and exited off the stage. Hamlet, newly baptized in his intended purpose, launched into a monologue about the intent of the brilliant lead performer, and how the play would catch the king’s conscience.

For Helena’s part, she only had a brief interlude backstage to consider her performance before Claudia’s arms were wrapped around her.

“You quirky Brit!” she laughed, as Helena attempted to break free. “Even  _ I _ could have been convinced by the end of that, hat or not.”

“Ha…” Helena blushed, but quickly pushed Claudia away. There was more work to do.

“Gertrude is in the following scene,” Helena recalled. “But no one tries to argue with her, so we should be alright. But the performance of the play...someone will need to get her hat off before that performance. If she convinces Hamlet to sit by her, he’ll forget all about his planned revenge.”

“So what’s the plan?” Claudia said. “Drop in and capture it from her?”

“No, the play still has to end correctly,” Helena said. “It needs to happen onstage.”

“So…” Claudia pressed, unsure of what would come next.

“I’m going back on,” said Helena, adjusting her doublet. 

\- - - - -

“My lord, you played once i' the university, you say?” asked Polonius, as the royal company sat down for the play within the play.

“That did I, my lord,” Claudius replied, “and was accounted a good actor.”

Rozencrantz stood up as the actors, again led by Helena, entered. “Ay, my lord; they stay upon your patience.”

Gertrude, locking eyes with Hamlet, motioned to the seat adjacent to her own. She still wore the hat.

“Come hither, my dear Hamlet,” she intoned, the hatpit catching the light strangely. “I pray you, sit by me.”

Hamlet had just begun to turn towards agreeing with his mother, when Helena jumped the cue and began her speech. 

“Ladies, and gentles all,” she began. “For us, and for our tragedy, here stooping to your clemency, we beg your hearing patiently.”

“Come,” said Gertrude, out of turn. “Say what the play treats on.”

Helena could feel the pull of the hat pin, convincing her that a full synopsis was the next step. She attempted to resist...but the more she considered the idea, a synopsis might be a good idea.

At least it would buy her some time.

“Very well,” she called to her fellow actors. “A pantomime, for the Queen!”

Ready as ever, the company leapt to action, miming through the action of the play within the play. As they moved, Helena watched Gertrude adjusting the hat. She needed her to remove the hat––but asking her to do so was a dead end. Worse, it would lead Gertrude to persuade everyone else against removing it. She needed to make Gertrude decide to take it off. But how? How to persuade a royal?

The answer came to her in a flash. As the play proper began, Helena darted to the wings, and whispered instructions to Claudia. 

Giving a thumbs up, Helena returned to the stage, as Claudia gave a final glare to the other actor tied up in the wings. “Don’t move,” she warned. “The future of Denmark depends on it.”

Running down the back hallway, she looked into each of the dressing rooms, all empty of actors. Helena’s plan was a long-shot, but it very well may work out. If only she could track down––

“Holly!” Claudia called out, seeing the ASM at the end of the hall. Holly quickly threw a finger to her lips to silence Claudia.

“The audience is  _ right out there _ ,” she said, pointing towards the stage.

“Right, right,” Claudia whispered. “Question: which dressing room is Gertrude’s?”

“Why do you ask?” Holly said. “I can’t let you touch the actors’ costumes.” 

“No, it’s not that,” Claudia covered. “Jean forgot something onstage again. I’m just bringing it to her.”

Holly rolled her eyes. “What did she forget this time?” 

“The lace hat,” said Claudia. “For the banquet scene.”

Holly squinted. “We’re not at the banquet scene yet.”

“Did you not see the director’s note?” Claudia asked. “She wear it in the players’ scene, too. Now. I’ll forward the email.”

“Um…” Holly’s hand moved closer to her headset. 

“I’ll explain everything during the intermission,” Claudia said, already turning down the hallway. “Don’t worry! It’s all for the play!”

Holly watched as Claudia exited down the hallway, only realizing after Claudia had already returned to the wings with the hat–– _ why was the board treasurer’s assistant getting production emails? _

\- - - - -

“Full thirty times hath Phoebus' cart gone round

Neptune's salt wash and Tellus' orbed ground,

And thirty dozen moons with borrow'd sheen…”

The fake beard itched terribly. Helena couldn’t understand how men coped with the extra strain of facial hair––only a burden, she considered. But she pushed through the discomfort, bringing the story of the Player King to the eyes of the onlooking crowd, as well as the crowd beyond the lip of the stage. 

“About the world have times twelve thirties been,

Since love our hearts and Hymen did our hands

Unite commutual in most sacred bands.”

Helena saw, from the corner of her eye, one of the other players standing to make her entrance as the Player Queen. Only a few lines remained before she would join Helena onstage––and Claudia was nowhere to be found. She trusted her fellow agent, but things had gone wrong with artifacts before. Helena swallowed hard. It was going to be close. 

“And thou shalt live in this fair world behind,

Honour'd, beloved; and haply one as kind

For husband shalt thou--”

That was the cue. Helena gestured with fear to the wings, towards her Player Queen. But just as she began to step onstage, a blur of coats and masks suddenly clouded her view. The other actors, playing the royal family, looked off to see the commotion, but only heard the rustling of cloth and perhaps a small squeal. 

Helena’s eyes brightened, as Claudia––dressed in a mismatched outfit built from whatever costumes she could rustle from backstage––entered as the Player Queen. And, on her head: Gertrude’s lace hat.

“My darling king!” she said, wrapping her arms around Helena’s waist. Helena stepped back, as the audience murmured to themselves.

“O please, dear love,” Helena improvised. “Stand not too close, for want of modesty. I do but pray your patience.”

“Aw, that’s my little royal man,” Claudia gushed, playfully hitting Helena’s shoulder.

Helena grimaced. “My lord, you do forget yourself,” she said sternly. “If time and place shall serve, you will recall your role and position?”

Claudia stood, one hip cocked and head tilted to the side, chiding Helena for her insistence on decorum. But with a groan, she agreed to play along.

“My king,” she began, not remembering the words at all. “Certain am I that we do love, yes sir.”

“But dear!” said Helena, with surprise. “Your crown you doff, and for what substitute? This rag and bone in cloth, this fisher’s net? To shadow o’er your eye and thatch the hair?”

Claudia reacted with mock bewilderment, as though the Player King’s mockery of the hat was something not previously discussed. “How dare you, king! To paint my hat within a negative light? ‘Tis rude, indeed.”

“‘Tis common courtesy, lady,” Helena continued. “For who, when confronted with his loathsome garb, shall not cry out in warning to the wearer?” 

Helena shot a glance to Claudius, catching Gertrude in her peripheral vision. She saw Gertrude move a hand to the brim of her hat. They pressed on.

“But sir, I was persuaded that this headpiece was the newest fashion,” said Claudia. “I feel more confident in it, as though I could command the heavens.”

“The newest trends are oft unfounded,” said Helena. “For we return to older fashions in due time. Our revisitations yielding newer arts with respect for the old. For what is a minuet without the madrigal proceeding?”

“Or the...jazz solo,” Claudia guessed, considering the play’s 1940s setting, “without the earlier classics?”

Helena grinned at Claudia. She had a good sense that their earlier arguments about musical taste might have found a new avenue for agreement. 

But for now, the conversation quickly turned back to the artifact, though the audience didn’t know that.

“Come, provide me this newest fashion,” Helena commanded. Claudia removed the hat, handing it to her Player King. Holding it up, Helena inspected it, but then looked back at her scene partner.

“Why, my lady,” she said. “My eyes I did avert from your sweet lips, your ocean eyes, and rosy cheek beside. This hat did take all focus from your glow. A thief of beauty, gilding crystal visage!”

“Oh my!” Caludia said, stealing a glance directly at Gertrude. “I do suppose it’s best to show your beauty with a plain face, instead of underneath adornment. The barest head’s the greatest beauty, yes!”

She looked to Helena, who seemed to be suggesting that she ease back on the direct commentary. Still, they hoped it would be enough. 

“And now, I rest!” said Helena, jumping back into the formal plot. “Sweet, leave me here awhile; my spirits grow dull, and fain I would beguile the tedious day with sleep.”

“You got it, chief,” said Claudia, and she jaunted out of sight. 

Helena laid down on the floor, anticipating the arrival of Lucianus, who would pour the poison in the Player King’s ear. But as she laid down, she kept an eye on Gertrude. Would the previous moment have been enough.

Jean looked down at the stage floor, deep in consideration. It was the same focus Helena had seen during the dress rehearsal; a desire to say and do the right thing, as best as she could do it. As Maurizio turned to her, she reached to grab the brim of the hat.

“Madam, how like you this play?” asked Hamlet.

Gertrude grinned, and placed her hat on the ground behind her chair. 

“The lady protests too much, methinks.” 

Offstage, Claudia sighed from relief. Onstage, Helena remained visibly asleep, but was silently relieved. 

“Now, I’ll be a servant,” Claudia said. 

As Lucianus snuck about the garden, inching closer to Helena’s Player King, members of the audience may have caught a glimpse of a shadow moving behind the set. It stopped just behind Gertrude’s throne, swiped the hat out of view, and then retreated into a wing.

Onstage, Lucianus mimed pouring the poison into Helena’s ear. Hamlet stood to explain the situation to the assembled royals, including a very worried-looking Gertude and Claudius. 

“He poisons him i' the garden for's estate,” Hamlet explained. “You shall see anon how the murderer gets the love of Gonzago's wife.”

Claudius stood, heading offstage. 

“The king rises!”

“What, frightened with false fire?”

“How fares my lord?”

“Give o’er the play!”

“Give me some light, away!” 

As Claudius and his royal company exited the stage, some members of the audience could almost make out a purple-ish light, coming from the opposite side of the stage. A more literal interpretation of the King’s word, but artists may make their own interpretation of  _ Hamlet. _

\- - - - -

Helena sat at her desk, once again parsing over her paperwork. Vivaldi played, at a slightly lower volume, through the room. She was just finalizing a thought, and picking up a pen to jot it down, when a newspaper fell onto her desk. It was the Arts section of the  _ Seattle Times _ , with a front-page headline: SEATTLE CLASSICS ENSEMBLE WOWS WITH AVANT-GARDE TAKE ON “HAMLET”

“The reviews are in,” Claudia said, walking from the desk to a nearby couch. Helena opened the paper, and read through the review. About halfway through the article, after a paragraph of praise for Foolproof Fiore’s take on the Danish prince, she found a couple lines that sounded familiar. 

“ _ The arrival of the players led to one of the production’s most radical departures from the Bard’s text: a new addition, spoken partly in verse, meant to evoke sympathy for the queen, Gertrude. Performed by two actresses who expressed a wish to remain anonymous, the insert into the classic story may seem out of place, but seemed to reveal the modernist heart of the directorial conceit. If one looks at  _ Hamlet _ from the post-Freudian analytical lens––” _

“It goes on like that for some time,” Helena chuckled, putting the paper back down. “Well, how does it feel to be a lauded performer on the stage?”

Claudia shrugged. “I’d rather be cheered by a bar crowd for my guitar playing than praised for reciting verse in an old-person play.”

For a moment, she seemed to smile. “Though I won’t say it wasn’t fun.”

“Perhaps you gained a new appreciation for...what did you call it?” Helena walked over to the record player, turning the volume up another notch. “Grandma music?”

Claudia rolled her eyes. “I suppose it’s not as terrible as I made it out to be.”

“Well, perhaps I can widen my view of art to include a slight appreciation for your newer rock music,” Helena said. “Each generation will always have their own definition of the ‘classics.’” 

Claudia smiled. “H.G. Wells, fan of classic rock. Not something I thought I’d hear.”

“I’m full of surprises,” said Helena, lifting the needle on the record player. Taking off the Vivaldi and reshelving it in its case, she perused the vinyl library nearby, eventually pulling an unassuming record out. 

“What’d you grab?” asked Claudia.

Helena didn’t answer. She merely removed the record from its sleeve, placed it on the table, and readjusted the needle. The sounds of early electric guitar and bassy drums filled the room. Claudia laughed out loud.

“Buddy Holly?” she cried out. “This is your new, modern rock?”

“He’s one of the greats, I’m told,” she said. “I’m still acclimating to the new musical landscape.”

“Well,” said Claudia, joining her partner at the bookshelf, “perhaps I can teach an old dog a thing or two about the new musical tricks.”

“Hey, who’re you calling an old dog?” asked Helena.

They laughed, as the guitar licks colored the air.


End file.
